When they arrived at the Sands, Caleb cut the engine but the radio continued to play.
“Do I smell like garbage?” She leaned toward him. “I took a shower before you came.”
“No, you smell like flowers.”
“Well, I’m going to have to leave my sneakers outside but—” When she looked up, he was inches from her face. “Guess I’m babbling.”
“I like your babbling.”
“Tonight was awesome, Caleb. Very wrong. But awesome.” She laughed. “I never do anything I’m not supposed to do. So what’s next? Nothing criminal.”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said as the Eagles’ “Take It Easy” played softly. He cupped his hand around her neck. “I’m running down the road . . .” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve got Emery Quinn on my mind.”
“Caleb—”
She wasn’t ready. But there was no going back. His arm slipped around her waist, and she fit against him. Then he kissed her—so soft and warm—and it was everything she might have imagined. She shivered, eager to kiss him back. Was she doing it right? Was she any good? The kiss ended slowly, like their lips didn’t want to leave each other.
“I could do this all night.” His words were thick and husky. “But it’s midnight.”
“Caleb?” she said. “I never kissed anyone before.”
“Me neither.” He grinned and laced his fingers with hers. “Best first kiss ever.”
14
EMERY
Now . . .
Doyle’s Auto Shop sat at the eastern entrance of Sea Blue Beach. Used to be everyone in town trusted Doyle to fix their cars until more modern shops opened in the West End.
Doyle hung up his oil rag and retired to the Bahamas, eventually selling the large cinder block structure with a dusty concrete floor to Simon Caster.
The wall facing the town entrance was the perfect canvas for Lulu Chan’s mural.
On the first Friday in February, she projected a full-color drawing onto the freshly painted white wall to check her design. She lined up the paints and brushes. A couple of city workers constructed the scaffolding.
Emery stood with Caleb, studying the images that would depict Sea Blue Beach’s history.
Dark edges framed the town and got lighter and brighter as they moved toward the center. From midnight blue to cerulean to cobalt—finally exploding in the middle with a brilliant royal blue haloed in a holy white gold.
Lulu created motion with foaming Gulf waves washing ashore. The sand seemed so soft and real, and reflected the blueish tinge of the Starlight’s neon sign.
In the center of the blue and holy gold was Immanuel, God with us, the man on the Starlight’s wall, legend of the town’s founding.
“He seems so lifelike,” Emery said, more to herself than Caleb.
“Immanuel? He always does.”
Somehow Lulu captured more than His face and arms, hair and hat; she captured His essence. Immanuel seemed to walk out of the painting into the town. Into Emery.
She took a step back, bumping into Caleb. “You okay?” His arm loosely rested around her waist.
“Y-yeah, just for a moment I felt like—” How did she put it into words? That the painting of a God she’d never seen or heard suddenly felt more real than her own heartbeat.
“This thing is going to be amazing,” Caleb said. “Adele’s idea may have jump-started an East End revival.”
“This will be a tourist attraction for sure.” For theGazette, Emery was covering the story herself. And she’d hired a renowned professional photographer, Kadasha Collier, to cover the progress. It cost more than a month’s salary, but beautiful pictures in the paper would boost theGazette’sreputation.
